


How Life Hates Us All

by handy_manny21



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Gen, Gore, Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28306926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handy_manny21/pseuds/handy_manny21
Summary: The voices ringing loud as he ran.He ran but could not escape.
Relationships: No Platonic Relationship(s), No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 2





	How Life Hates Us All

**Author's Note:**

> Aluz= A fantasy god; the god of control
> 
> Canlus= A fantasy slur; A dangerous thieving Malak
> 
> Malic= A fantasy race
> 
> Malak= An individual from the Malic race

He ran through the woods with pain in his legs. He had been running for hours at this point, but they were still on his tail. It was dark and the trees had scratched him the entire way; blood seeping out of his arms and his causing his shirt to be torn. The dark forest painted in dark greens and greys. Mist littered the air he breathed. Bruises old and new covered every hidden and shown part of his limbs. The moon covered by the black trees and grey mist.

He had twisted his ankle and his cheeks bleeding copious amounts of blood. He heard his heart beating in every part of his body. The uncomfortable feel of warm skin and cold air clashed in and on him. A group of 15 chasing him since the late afternoon to the ungodly hours of night.

He’d forgotten the reason he was being chased (he was sure they had too), but knew it was under penalty of death. Many were under penalty of death if you were Malak. If he stayed he'd have to see the faces of the tiny children as he died causing him to believe that dying in a warped and dark forest was the best choice.

“Get back here you fucking canlus!” One of the men shouted for the umpteenth time; all sentences spoke lacking variation. When he was younger, he would wonder how someone spoke with such little vocabulary after learning the language. Such simple times, before the war and changing ideas amongst the people. He would laugh, if it weren't for the painful ache in his lungs. Here he was, thinking about such simple times when on his death bed.

He tried to climb over a moss covered rock, but his tired legs would not climb. He tripped, falling as the men caught up. His vision dotting with black with fatigue. He struggled on but once again failed. Sticks and leaves etching into his body as he trembled.

“No,” he whispered, his voice out of breath as he drifted near unconsciousness. The pause had caused his surge of adrenaline to stop leaving him tirelessly dead of hope.

He tried so desperately to get up and flee; keep his legacy going no matter the cost or outcome. But now… the cost was his life. The roll of die stopping as his luck ran short. He whispered prayers to a god he knew wasn’t real. One of the many he was forced to believe in by the barbaric men who now pursued him. The god of control, death, and pain.

He was eventually too weak to continue out loud in whispers, but push on within his head.

In the blurry fog of his mind, he prayed. “Oh Aluz above, please rest my body safely and with no pain. May the light at the end of the tunnel lead me to a warm embrace. I pray the children stay safe and,” he blanked, nearing unconsciousness, then continued, "obedient. If they can live, there's hope for us all." 

He tried to continue but his vision was already black. . His mind faded to sleep in a bloodstained blanket of cold.


End file.
